No Loopholes In Death
by haveyouseenmyhaggis
Summary: If anyone can find a loophole or a solution to a difficult situation, it's Clint Barton. But today? He has nothing. Clint tries to steal the Tesseract to bring Phil back to life. [Possibly upsetting material RE: post traumatic stress]


If anyone can find a loophole or a solution to a difficult situation, it's Clint Barton.

He prides himself on that fact, even today as he sits in the Director's office with Natasha. He barely even flinches when he hears Nick Fury explain to him that Phil Coulson is dead. The information jars in his head and he frowns just slightly, his fingers gripping the edges of his chair that little bit tighter. He already knows this - he found out almost immediately after they'd stopped Loki but this is what he assumes is the official meeting. He hears Natasha draw a sharp breath somewhere to his left but he doesn't look around at her. He just reaches out a hand slowly to her, taking hold of hers tightly. After all - Clint is fine. He knows how to fix this, after all.

He's aware the Director is watching him, waiting for some sort of reaction but Clint has already rationalised this and his expression doesn't match the situation. Quickly, he turns his attention to the ground, avoiding the other man's gaze.

"H-He died-," Natasha begins but she hesitates for just a second when Clint's fingers tighten just slightly around hers. It's that word. He never liked that word - 'died'... It's too harsh. Too final. Wrong. Clint can fix this. They should all stop using that word. He bites his lip hard, focussing on the slight pain that causes as he closes his eyes tightly. He can feel Natasha's eyes on him as she tries to carry on and finish her sentence now. "-a hero," she says slowly, an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice. Clint wants to tell her it's okay - that he can fix this. Because he can. He already knows what he needs to do. He doesn't say a word though - he just sits quietly. Behaving.

"That, he did," Fury confirms with a sad smile. "But I know he'd be proud o-."

"No." It's the first word Clint has spoken in the entire exchange and it's sharp and cold - far from the archer's usual brightness. "Stop it." He doesn't want to hear that - not from Fury. He wants to hear that from Phil. It's his words to speak, not the Director's. What does Fury know about any of this? He knows nothing. Nothing.

All eyes are on Clint then. He swallows hard, forcing himself into silence. Natasha squeezes his hand a little in what he decides is reassurance but he doesn't want it. Hell, he doesn't need it. There's nothing he needs reassured about. "Sorry," he mumbles eventually, his tone completely lifeless and flat. With that, he gets to his feet and makes for the door - he just needs to get out.

Natasha follows him to the door, tugging at his arm to get his attention. "Barton," she says sharply but her voice is a little shaky.

Again, Clint wants to try and tell her it's going to be okay. But he can't - not with Fury here. And besides, he's pretty sure Natasha herself will probably disapprove of this plan though, so once again, he holds his tongue. "Let me go," he says quietly, still sounding flat and devoid of emotion. It's a careful mask he knows how to put on - he can destroy anything he's feeling almost stupidly easy. It's always been a handy trick he's taught himself. The art of practicality.

He can tell Natasha is suspicious though. After all, she is just as practised in lying as he is - if not more so. She frowns, visibly worried a she moves one hand to cup his cheek, making him look at her properly. "You can't change anything, Clint," she says quietly.

The archer can see what she's doing. Playing the familiarity card. The use of his first name jars a little with his current mindset - what Clint sees as his Mission Mindset. Detached from what he might be feeling in order to get a job done. It's how it has to be. He just shakes his head, tugging himself free of Natasha's grip and making towards the door in a few quick steps. He doesn't say anything and he certainly doesn't look back at either Natasha or the Director.

He just leaves.

Clint doesn't waste any time in heading towards the secure vaults. He doesn't give himself a moment to acknowledge the fear bubbling in his stomach - he never does. Fear is weakness, weakness is failure - and so he remains practical. He has a job to do. He pauses outside the door of the vault for a second, glancing over his shoulder just to check he wasn't followed. He almost laughs - this is too easy, surely? Far too easy.

He enters his pass code easily into the panel on the wall and waits while the doors hiss and roll open. He hesitates for the briefest of moments, drawing in a sharp, steadying breath as his hands form tense fists. He slips into the vault, grimacing a little as the room is suddenly bathed in brilliant white light once the computer recognises his presence in the room. Around him are a series of locked doors, each made of thick metal. High security.

Strictly speaking, Clint shouldn't have clearance in this room. He does, however, pride himself in his ability as a spy. Smirking to himself, he glances around the room, reading the panel on each door carefully until he finds the one he needs - the most recent. He quickly enters the stolen code into the alarm before pulling the door open.

The Tesseract. It looks almost ornamental, sitting on a raised pedestal bathing the container in a brilliant blue glow. Clint pauses for a split second then, as he realises that this is the device that allowed him to be controlled and manipulated only a few days before. His apprehension is short lived though and he forces himself to think through it. Slowly and carefully, he edges forwards and takes the Tesseract from it's stand, his fingers careful and gentle.

As soon as he touches the Tesseract though, an alarm sounds overhead and the archer freezes.

No. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. He looks around sharply, his eyes darting this way and that - assessing the situation before he bolts for the door. He just needs to get away before other Agents start arriving here - and that'll be about forty-five seconds tops if his memory of the stations of his colleagues serves him well.

To his surprise though, it's Natasha he runs straight into in the doorway of the vaults. "Tasha!?" he says, startled. "Get out of my way-."

"Clint, Clint, no, this isn't going to work," Natasha pleads, her expression more urgent than he's seen it in a long while. He knows at once she's been spying on him and she's already figured out his intentions. She tries to grab the Tesseract from his grip and he laughs, the sound a little hysterical. He stops back, trying to get out of reach but she just follows him, just as quick and able and he is.

Clint's options are limited here. He doesn't want to hurt Natasha and he doesn't want to drop the Tesseract but he needs to fight his way out of here without doing either. "I can make it work," he argues, trying to convince her instead. "We could bring Phil back! We just need to figure out how to use this. Loki-."

He wasn't expecting the sharp slap that followed that and he took a hasty step back, watching Natasha carefully as she speaks, "Clint, just listen to yourself. You can't reason with Loki and none of us have the power to control that thing. It's dangerous. Remember what it did to you!?"

"But Phil-." he stammers, desperate for her to understand and agree with him.

"Phil's gone, Clint," Natasha says but the sentence isn't harsh. There's tears in her eyes and she looks nothing short of desperate as she holds out her hand for the Tesseract. "Please..."

It's then the room is crawling with people. Too many people. Faces Clint knows, faces he doesn't. All eyes are all on him. Everyone. Guns. He's going to be shot. People are shouting at him to drop the Tesseract; "Put it down, Barton."; "Agent, drop it or we'll shoot."; "We will kill you.".

And just for a moment, Clint nearly dares them to do it. He opens his mouth to say it - to challenge them because what does he care? What the hell has he got left now? It's his fault Phil died really - he should have been defending his own people rather than letting himself be a puppet for a genocidal god. He deserves this, does he not? To be shot down by the people he betrayed? If he can't bring Phil back - one of the only people who believed in him - what business did he have here? Yes, he's pretty sure he deserves this.

He so. Nearly. Says it.

But he doesn't. He goes to speak but the words die in his throat and instead he chokes on a sob as he realises he's failed. Natasha doesn't miss a beat before she snatches the Tesseract from him but she doesn't leave his side. She holds the blue box out to one of the other Agents but Clint can't even see through the blur of tears anymore.

He makes a weak grab for the Tesseract though, his other hand wrapped around Natasha's arm as he finds his intentions colliding in his head. See the mission through or give in and accept the comfort he so badly needs. Natasha doesn't give him much choice, however. She pulls Clint into her arms, holding him tight against her and trying to stop him from moving away. "It's okay, Clint, it's okay," she murmurs, casting a dangerous look Clint barely notices around at the others in the room.

In seconds, the room is clear once more and Clint is alone with Natasha and there's nobody there to see his tears besides her. But that's okay. She's seen this before. But today, she's crying with him.

"I-I could have done it. Brought him back," Clint murmurs through broken sobs as he tries to pull back a little. He wants the Tesseract. He wants Phil. "I could-. L-Loki. W-We could have used him. Made him do it. Bring him back. Tesseract could do it."

"No," Natasha says simply, her voice shaking as tears drip down her cheeks - a mirror of her partner. "No, Clint."

And it hurts, oh god, it hurts. Clint lets out a pained whimper, dropping his head to Natasha's shoulder as sobs tear through his body. She's right. Natasha's right. But he doesn't want to believe that. Together, they sink to the ground, sharing tears for their fallen handler. Clint doesn't know how long they're there - the minutes start blurring into nothing but indescribable agony. The feeling makes his throat feel tight and his chest feel much too heavy and he can't breathe, he can't speak and nothing even makes sense anymore.

"H-He's gone, Clint," Natasha murmurs against his hair, rubbing his back as he clings to her and it's only now starting to dawn on the archer that yes, she's right.

Yes, if anyone can find a loophole or a solution to a difficult situation, it's Clint Barton. But today? Today he has nothing.


End file.
